


diagnoses and drinks

by kehlee



Category: The Fault in Our Stars - John Green
Genre: ??????, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, I mean sort of, M/M, WHATEVER I SAY, sorry i am bad at this tagging business, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kehlee/pseuds/kehlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>isaac handles surgery poorly. augustus handles a drunk friend with care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	diagnoses and drinks

Augustus wasn't sure which came first: the pee, or the vomit. 

Not his pee, nor his vomit, but rather the one of the head he'd cradled in his arms. If the puke hadn't already enticed him deeply, he would have been deeply moved by the slope of his friend's mahogany eyelashes, curving gently as his cheek did so, as well. There was something edgier about Isaac after his surgery. Despite how keen he'd become on the Therapeutic Power of Music, he also had become exceedingly keen on his weapons of choice: drink after boring drink.

Naturally, it was always Augustus who got the short end of the stick on this one. When Isaac came home nauseated, griping and whining for Gus, his mother would call him and he would make the drive over, sit and hold his head, run his fingers through his hair, and hope he wouldn't vomit on him. Heaven knows he had before.

Tonight was no different from any other night, and would have gone down in history as such were it not for the strong bravado Isaac seemed to be exuding. It had been a strong evening, the red sun dipping deeply below the sky and Isaac's puke was just as pungent. 

He'd lived a life of diagnoses. From the day he entered kindergarten aware of his slight lack of sight, he spent days in the pediatricians office, trying on corrective lens after corrective lens. Despite the hours spent attempting to cure this ailment, it seemed hopeless. He was eight years old and using poor glasses when he finally decided it wasn't getting any better. Three years, and they brought him to a specialist. Problem: ocular cancer. Solution: surgery.

His first surgery was age eight and half. He was kicking balls down the street with Gus the day of, and Gus's mother drove him all the way to Children's to see him, bandage covering his eye. He smiled all over to see him. From then on, it was decided. Best friends was a pact, a promise, something special and important. 

Tonight's problem: vodka. Solution: wait. So Augustus waited, stroked his hair, watched him with careful eyes. It was a gnarly sight; Isaac's hair matted, to put it lightly, with chunks, his shirt a sweaty mess, and his eyes practically puffed to the close from crying. Augustus could not blame him. Though he, personally, was not blind, he had come to appreciate his sight. This one was not pleasant, was no grand canyon, but it was something he would remember. He could paint it inside. 

Isaac could plunk out the feeling and sound of his voice on a keyboard, a piano or guitar but he had lost the feel of a paintbrush. Not that he was a painter before he'd lost his sight-- he had never been an artist. Not much of a loss, but the lack of opportunity still seemed a sore lose.

His second surgery was ages later, but this one was looming and ominous and it was terrifying. It was full of forgetting and recalling and when his eyes blinked closed for the last time, Augustus did not see it. He was not there to view his hazel eyes fluttering closed a last time. It was likely not much of a flutter. He would not have minded if it wasn't.

But this return of the ailment came back stronger than before and despite Isaac's cynical comments regarding his hopes to lose his hearing rather than sight (and helpful corrective nurses who assured him he would not lose his hearing) he was not broken. Augustus would remind him on the daily: not broken. 

Words went in one ear, out the other for Isaac. It was almost as if he didn't even hear them, rather, they were written words that he couldn't see anyway. Mostly, he was angry. He tore posters from the wall, screamed into pillows, thrashed his arms wildly at Augustus.

Augustus sat still, listened, and spoke slowly and with a lilt of sweetness in his voice. Tonight, especially. Sweet Friendly nothings. When his hand landed upon Isaac's, Augustus listened.  
"Thanks."

He tilted his head as if maybe he were to act, Isaac could open his eyes again. A pause. "You don't need to thank me for anything."

"I do, though," he insisted. "I'm thankful. That you deal with this."  
"I wouldn't say that I deal with it. I've come to love it, actually."

To that, Isaac slipped out a chuckle, heaved and heaved nothing. Augustus squeezed his hand, made sure he was alright-- of course he would be alright, but it was like he would watch life try to pour from his alcohol lips. He needed him around.

"Sorry," he came again.

Augustus pressed a sigh. "You don't have to say that to me, you know."

Isaac knew. He always knew.

Augustus always watched, listened. Though only half could be reciprocated, he no longer came to mind. When listless Isaac's dead eyes met his, it was pure accident. Somehow still felt warm. That was Isaac: warm and warm and warm. There was a quality of him that warmed Augustus to the bone. He leaned Isaac's head against his shoulder with a slow hand. 

"Your head is on my shoulder."

"I haven't lost my feeling just yet."

And then silence. Some nights were vomit and some nights were crying and some nights were whining, but most nights? Silence. There was this stunningly comfortable silence which fit the two like a warm sweater. Though it wasn't much, they both held onto it by the fraying threads. 

After a while, Isaac always asked the same question: "Are you still there?"

"And you say you haven't lost your feeling."

Then a pause again. Augustus stroked through his hair again, makes sure he's feeling well with a few basic questions. Though he claims "okay", Augustus still worried.

Their fingers laced.

"Gus--"

"Isaac. Let me tell you something."

"I know that I've pissed myself."

"I know you know." He laughed through a breath. "I would kiss you if your entire body didn't smell so damn bad."

"I would kiss you anyway."

**Author's Note:**

> written for a request on on my fic blog, radstronaut.tumblr.com ! i'm stoked to have that up and running. here's hoping this is good even though it wasnt written on my own time? who knows ??? life


End file.
